Opening Pandora's Box
by Selina K
Summary: "Make it easy for me Parkinson." Pansy's curiosity leads to a less than desired encounter with Harry. Set Post-Hogwarts. Could be DH-compliant if you don't think too hard about it. Rated M for reasons.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"I hope you've got your coat on," Pansy called out as she breezed through the Ministry office door. "I'm absolutely starving."

The smile dropped immediately off her face at the sight of her former housemate scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. "Blaise, I can't believe you're not ready!" she said, her displeasure made clear by a small stomp of one well-heeled foot. "Need I remind you how difficult it was to get these reservations?"

Her former housemate barely spared her a glance. "Sorry, Pans. Got to finish this report for Shacklebolt before we can go." His quill bobbed rapidly for a few more seconds before he exclaimed, "Done!" He finally looked up, a wide grin creasing his handsome face as he took in her appearance. "Well," he said approvingly as he leaned back and ran admiring eyes from the top of her elegantly coiffed head to the gleaming metal stiletto heels. "So much for not making a statement."

"Oh, this old thing?" Pansy trilled, her hands smoothing over the dress clinging enticingly to her curves, its neckline plunging deeply to a point just below her breasts. She twirled around for greater effect, showing off the shockingly short hem and an almost embarrassing amount of skin exposed in the back.

A chuckle escaped from Blaise. "I suppose Nigel should see what he's missing." His features softened for a moment. "He's a bastard for leaving you, Pansy. And then announcing his engagement after only a month? The papers still can't stop talking about it." He shook his head in disgust. "The offer still stands. Just say the word." For emphasis, he aimed his quill threateningly at an alarmed portrait occupant just behind her.

"It's okay, Blaise. I can handle him quite well on my own. Believe me, he'll pay." Her dark eyes twinkled with a wicked gleam that promised great retribution for the humiliation heaped upon her.

"I'm sure you will." And because her friend knew exactly what she was capable of, he returned her smirk with one of his own. He glanced over at the clock in the corner and started. "Shacklebolt's leaving in 10 minutes," he said as he scrambled to his feet. "I'll be right back. Make yourself comfortable." He vaguely waved his hand in the direction of the nearest chair. "Just not," he added firmly, "on Potter's desk."

Rolling her eyes, Pansy scooted away from the aforementioned desk and instead, perched herself at the edge of Blaise's. Picking up a letter-opener emblazoned with the Slytherin crest, she scrutinized her reflection in its shiny surface, making sure that her lip gloss was still perfect. "So what's it like working with the Boy-Who-Saved-Us-All? Still nasty to all former Slytherins?"

"He's alright," Blaise replied absently as he gathered up several rolls of parchment. "Once you get to know him." His arms full, he dashed to the door, shouting behind him as he closed it. "Remember, don't touch anything on his desk!"

"I won't!" Pansy shouted back in exasperation. However, as soon as Blaise's footsteps faded away, she wandered over to Potter's desk. Unrolled pieces of parchment, news clippings from _The Daily Prophet_, and random dusty objects were scattered all over the surface. _Just like his hair_, she sniffed haughtily, _absolutely no attention to detail. _She idly poked a teetering pile with her finger, causing the papers to shift and reveal a pair of shiny bracelets. Never one to ignore pretty things, Pansy fished one of them out, admiring the way the light reflected off the bright gold. She noticed some delicate engravings along the inside edge, but no matter how hard she squinted at them, she couldn't make out their meaning (Ancient Runes was never her best subject). Undeterred, she slipped the bracelet onto her wrist. Immediately, a prickling sensation spread up her arm, making the hair on her skin rise. _The damn thing's enchanted!_ Pansy realized belatedly, a sickening feeling pooling in the pit of her stomach. She tried to slip it off, but the bracelet seemed to have shrunk and wrapped itself tightly around her wrist. No amount of pulling or tugging could loosen it.

"What are you doing, Parkinson?"

Pansy's heart almost jumped into her throat. In her panic, she didn't even hear Harry come in. Quickly, she grabbed the other bracelet and composed her face into a familiar sneer before spinning around to face him, careful to keep both items hidden behind her back.

"Nothing, Potter. Just admiring your filing system." She started edging slowly away from his desk, hoping to gain the safety of Blaise's own, but her behavior immediately attracted his attention. Suspicion flared in his green eyes. "What's behind your back?" he demanded as he took a step toward her.

"Nothing but my hands!" She flashed him a wide, and hopefully disarming, smile. "I'll just wait for Blaise over there if you don't mind—"

Pansy didn't know that he could move so quickly. In the space of a few seconds, Harry had crossed the office and trapped her against the desk. His arm snaked around her, and she could feel his fingers, rough and calloused, pressing painfully hard into the soft skin of her wrists.

"Make it easy for me, Parkinson. Give it back," he said, his voice almost a low growl against her ear. The threat implicit in his words made her heart race even faster.

"I- I can't," she babbled nervously as she tried twisting away from him.

"You mean you won't," he snarled at her as he snatched her arm from behind her back. They struggled against each other, Harry nearly bending her in half as he tried to pry her fingers off the bracelets. He'd managed to grab one just as she lost her grip on it. The bracelet slid easily onto his wrist, and from the look on his face, she could tell that he'd felt that same magic coursing up his arm. Harry staggered away from her, his gaze dropping to the gold now adorning his arm. For half a second, Pansy entertained the thought of sneaking around him while he was distracted, but he recovered before she could even take a step in the direction of the door.

"What did you do?" Harry shouted as he jerked her roughly toward him. His fingers dug painfully into her shoulders, nearly making her cry out in pain. She was about to retaliate by stabbing her heel into his foot when an alarmed voice called out from behind them.

"What's going on here?"


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

The original version of this story was a standard PWP. I'm attempting to rewrite this and make it more substantial (I hope). As always, thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

In the back of his mind Harry knew that he was over-reacting. While Death Eaters and their former supporters used to bring out the worst of his temper, he'd learned over time to rein in his emotions. Up until now, he'd been nothing less than professional in his interactions with them. There was really no excuse for the way he was currently trying to tear Pansy's arm off. However, it took a pain-laced gasp to finally force him to stop and take a closer look at the witch thrashing about in his arms.

Harry wasn't exactly sure what he expected to see. Hate, perhaps. Maybe anger at his rough handling of her. He definitely wasn't expecting to see the hint of fear in Pansy's eyes as she stared back at him. Suddenly embarrassed at his loss of control, Harry quickly released her, stepping aside and allowing her to rush to over to Blaise.

"Harry?" Blaise asked as he moved to place himself between him and Pansy. Shaking his head at the ridiculous gesture (_Blaise surely should know better_), Harry raised his hand and stabbed a finger in her direction.

"She was sneaking around my desk—"

"I was not!" Pansy protested hotly. He ignored her little show of bravery and continued.

"And then in a brilliant display of intelligence, she decided to tinker with unknown, Dark Arts objects. Go on, show him your new accessory," Harry suggested, his words practically dripping with disdain. He noted with some measure of satisfaction that they had the desired effect. Her blue eyes no longer reflected fear but an animosity that seemed almost cozily familiar.

"Really, Potter. How dangerous can they be if nothing's happened to us yet. And I'm sure Blaise can figure out how to get these…these things off." Pansy gazed hopefully at her former housemate as he raised her wrist to take a closer look at the bracelet.

After a few seconds, he shook his head. "I don't know, Pansy. I'm not the expert when it comes to magical artifacts." He turned to look at Harry. "And you've got one on you as well?" At his nod, Blaise asked, "Don't suppose your research turned up anything new?"

"No." Harry frowned and leaned against his desk, crossing his arms in front of him. He studied the bracelet on his wrist. The precious stones embedded in the metal shone dully, giving no indication of its magical nature. "I was going to send them off to Hermione when she returned from her vacation." Lifting his head, he shot his partner a pointed look. "On Monday," he added emphatically.

The seriousness of their situation - being in close contact with a magical object with unknown properties - seemed to have escaped Pansy completely. "Well, I'm sure Potter here can solve this puzzle while we're at dinner," she said brightly as she tugged on Blaise's arm and began to drag him towards the door. "Don't forget, we have reservations!"

"You're not going anywhere, Parkinson!" he finally barked at her. To his surprise, she immediately stopped as if her feet were suddenly glued to the floor. Blaise gave her an odd look and even Harry blinked in astonishment at having his request followed so quickly. "Ah, right. Look, just sit down until we can all figure this one out."

Pansy began to move somewhat stiffly towards a chair. "What's going on?" she cried out in alarm.

Realization bloomed in Harry's mind.

"Wait, stop!"

"Turn around."

"Do a little jig."

After the third command, Pansy's situation was all too horrifyingly clear. "You did this to me!" she shrieked at him as her feet unwillingly tapped out a rhythm on the floor.

"Oh, alright, you can stop." The corner of Harry's lips lifted into a smirk as he openly savored her distress. "I guess we know what yours does."

Her cheeks flooded with color at the implication. Immediately, she shouted an order at him. "Down on your knees!"

Harry waited for the same prickling sensation he'd felt when the bracelet first slid around his wrist. When nothing happened, his smirk turned into an outright grin. Pansy's eyes widened in understanding and she gave a little gasp of dismay that filled him with smug satisfaction.

"That settles it, then. The bracelets form some sort of...ah... master-slave relationship between the two people wearing them." Blaise said thoughtfully as he gazed at each of them in turn.

Apparently, that was not what Pansy wanted to hear. "Blaise, you're a bloody Auror! Do something about this. I refuse to spend my entire weekend shackled to him!" she declared in a whining tone that grated against Harry's ears and promised endless headaches if he dared to spend more than a few minutes in her company.

"Oh just go already. I've got better things to do with my time than order you about," he snapped at her as he turned away and planted himself behind his desk, running one hand raggedly through his hair. "You can enjoy your precious weekend and come back on Monday. We might even have answers for you by then."

He watched her shoot Blaise a triumphant look before hurrying out of the office, only to find her standing in front of him as soon as she set one foot outside the door. Another shriek erupted from her and Harry winced at the renewed assault on his eardrums. "This is impossible!" She stamped her foot in fury. "Blaise!"

His partner held up his hands helplessly. "I can't do anything right now, Pansy. You heard Harry. We need Granger's input on this and she's not exactly available at this minute." Blaise hurried over and took her hands between his in an effort to calm her down. "I'll try to work on it myself, I promise you. Besides, I don't think Harry will abuse his influence over you. You know, Gryffindor chivalry and all that."

Harry rolled his eyes and mumbled, "Fine. I'll be nice to Parkinson." He pulled out a folder that had been tucked underneath a vase and began to read through the contents, already dismissing Pansy from his mind.

"Brilliant! See, it's going to be okay!" Blaise cheerfully patted Pansy's cheek before dashing off to grab his coat.

"And just where do you think you're going?" she asked, a note of suspicion creeping into her voice.

"Well…" He studiously avoided her narrowed eyes. "I really shouldn't let those reservations go to waste. After all, you did say it took you weeks to get them." Having inched his way towards the exit, he waved goodbye and quickly made his escape, seconds before the vase smashed into bits against the door frame.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry had big plans for his evening. They weren't terribly exciting plans, but they were big plans nonetheless. Tonight was the night when he was going to finally tackle the alternate dimension that was his work desk (so named by Ron for the curious manner in which items tended to disappear once he'd placed them on it). He was going to organize and sort though all of the crap that had accumulated on it and catch up on all the paperwork that had piled up since his last assignment three weeks ago. At the end of the night his desk would be in such absolute order that Shacklebolt would surely faint in relief at the sight of it.

Well, perhaps he wouldn't faint, Harry conceded. But he would certainly be relieved, along with the other Aurors who'd been unfortunate enough to stand in front of his desk while he shoved papers aside, muttering "It was here...I just saw it..."

However he wasn't going to accomplish much of anything tonight because he was stuck babysitting a restless Slytherin socialite who had the most irritating inability to keep her hands to herself.

Bored out of her mind and obviously still furious over the situation she'd found herself in, Pansy prowled around the office like some overgrown cat, poking her nose into every little thing. After the fifth time he'd had to whip out his wand to rescue something from complete and utter destruction, Harry decided he'd had enough. Pansy was ordered into a chair, with instructions to not touch anything. When she started complaining loudly and, rather colorfully, about his ungentlemanly behavior, he'd told her to shut up. Pansy made her displeasure quite clear, and if looks could indeed kill, Harry reckoned he'd be dead by now.

However, he soon found out that being confined to a chair and forbidden to talk didn't stop his former schoolmate from making a nuisance of herself. When her angry glares failed to rattle him, she chose more subtle, though no less aggravating, means to annoy him. She would twist around in her seat until the edge of her dress rose higher on her thigh. She would lift her arms above her head in such a way that the thin fabric stretched over the curve of her breasts. To his great frustration, Harry caught himself watching her out of the corner of his eye more times than he cared to. At one point, he even considered transfiguring her dress into something more like McGonagall's old dressing gown. An image of her sneering face floated into his mind; he just couldn't give her that satisfaction.

It was only after he realized that he'd been reading the same paragraph for the past half-hour without understanding a single word that he gave up. "That's it. We're done here," he bit out through gritted teeth, throwing file down with such force that the contents spilled out, adding to the chaos on his desk. He swore loudly, pulling off his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose.

Pansy watched him gleefully, the smirk dancing on her lips all the way to his flat.

"That couch is hideous, Potter," was the first thing she said upon entering his home. Harry bristled at her words, instantly regretting giving her permission to talk.

"What's wrong with it? It looks fine to me," he countered as he sidled over to it and tried to surreptitiously brush off some crumbs left over from last night's dinner.

"Well yes, if you're going for the 'nicked out of alleyways' look." She surveyed the room with faint distaste, her sharp eyes noting the various offences to fashion. "And the drapes? Velour hasn't been in since…well, never."

"Enough with the critiques. You're not here to redecorate my flat." He abruptly turned away, ignoring her snide response about his need for such expertise, and stomped off into the kitchen in search of a cure for his building headache. He opened a cabinet and pulled out the bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky that Ron left behind a few days ago. He uncorked it and took a good long pull, welcoming the burning sensation as the liquor slipped down his throat. When he finally came up for air, he found Pansy leaning casually against the counter, eyeing him with undisguised amusement.

"Don't suppose you've got anything else to drink other than that disgusting swill?" Her nose crinkled in disdain as she indicated the bottle with a tilt of her head.

"Sorry, but the daily shipment of champagne didn't arrive today." Harry raised the bottle in a mocking toast, intent on taking another mind-numbing drink. He didn't expect to see her soft, well-manicured hand neatly snatch the bottle out of his grasp and lift it to her red lips. When she'd finished sputtering and gasping for breath, obviously unused to the taste, she shoved it into his chest and declared, "Well, I guess it's better than butterbeer."

With a flip of dark hair over a pale shoulder, Pansy left the kitchen. Harry tried to banish the image of her swaying hips from his mind with another generous mouthful of liquor.

* * *

Pansy deemed the food selection in his pantry as just barely above edible. Going out for dinner was out of the question, so they were left to choose from his meager selection of take away menus.

She immediately vetoed his standard option - pizza and beer - with a disgusted shake of her head.

"I don't know what you're expecting to have, but the fancy restaurants don't deliver here," he said irritably as he looked over the menu from the Chinese restaurant three blocks down.

His answer seemed to have caught her attention and she stared off thoughtfully, fingers tapping lightly on her cheek before telling him, "I'll be using your fireplace."

Twenty minutes later, an owl was knocking on his kitchen window, a medium-sized box gripped in its talons. After sending it off with a bit of dried out bread, Harry turned to see Pansy removing several containers from the box. The aroma of rich food filled the small space and he gravitated towards her, mouth watering in anticipation.

However, a nasty surprise was waiting for him once he reached the counter. A survey of the containers revealed that there wasn't enough food for two people, a fact Pansy was quick to point out.

"Oh dear, it seems they got the order wrong," she stated, her voice dripping with mock concern. She dug her fork into an opened container and brought the contents - it looked like risotto - to her mouth. A blissful expression flitted across her face as she chewed slowly. Pansy was trying to provoke him, that much was clear. And was nearly successful at it.

Harry was sorely tempted to simply order her to give up her dinner. Better yet, he could imagine Pansy on her knees in front of him, feeding him bites of food. In fact, he could think of a number of things she could on her knees...

Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, Harry shook away the images that filtered into his mind. He was above misusing his advantage over her. And he didn't particularly care to dwell on the unexpected pulse of desire that shot through him at the thought of Pansy in that position.

The click of her heels on the floor brought him back to his senses. She was rummaging through his cabinets and managed to unearth an unopened bottle of wine. "You don't mind, do you?" she asked over her shoulder as she uncorked the bottle and poured herself a glass.

Harry bristled at her cheek. He wasn't keen on sharing, but the prospect of having her pass out from too much wine and thus leaving him in peace for the rest of the evening was too appealing to ignore.

"Go ahead," he said smoothly. "Help yourself."

* * *

The situation did not pan out as Harry had hoped. She'd finished all of the take-away, and despite making good progress with the wine, remained unaffected. In fact, Pansy became even more chatty, much to his immense frustration. She'd moved on from complaints about her current job and was now subjecting him to an unnecessarily detailed account of her past relationships.

"If you asked me—"

"I didn't," Harry muttered into the wine bottle.

"The bitch is entirely unsuitable for him. I just don't know what he sees in her," she continued on, blissfully ignorant of Harry's increasingly surly demeanor. She picked up her glass, blinking in surprise at finding it empty. Waving her hand at the bottle resting between his knees, she called out, "Hand it over, Potter."

The gems on the bracelet caught the light and seemed to wink at him as it twisted around her wrist. Reminded of the current situation, he snapped at her. "I'm not your servant. If you want it, come and get it."

Seconds ticked by, marked by the Muggle clock on the mantle. Pansy clumsily got to her feet and staggered across the room to where Harry sat defiant, the bottle now grasped tightly in one hand. She leaned over, the ends of her hair sweeping along his arm, and offered him a generous view down the front of her dress.

"Didn't your mother teach you how to share?" she murmured lightly, her slim fingers coming to rest over his.

"If you want it so badly, you can always kneel down and beg for it."

Her arm whipped out quickly, but Harry's far superior reflexes kicked in and he caught her hand before it touched his cheek. "I think you're forgetting who's in charge." He tugged on her wrist, forcing her to lose her balance and tumble awkwardly into his lap. Her eyes widened in surprise, but he cut her off before she could protest, his mouth closing over hers in a rough, demanding kiss. He was surprised to find her lips so soft; he'd half-expected to cut himself on them, given the sharp words he'd been treated to all night long. Letting go of her wrist, Harry threaded his fingers through her thick locks, tugging her head back until her lips parted on a gasp and he could taste more of her. His other hand was already under the silk of her dress, sliding eagerly over a smooth thigh, one finger hooking onto a lacy edge to explore the skin underneath. The heady mix of frustration, lust, and alcohol made it difficult to think clearly, and it took a while for him to realize what he was doing. As he released Pansy, she quickly scrambled backwards, her stunned blue eyes meeting his horrified green ones. But instead of slapping him, she simply fled the room, the door to his bedroom slamming shut behind her. Harry slumped back, picked up the discarded bottle (which miraculously did not spill its contents) and resigned himself to sleeping on the couch.


End file.
